Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  This delighted the boarders and they repaired to the rear of the house and gazed with awe and respect upon the sleek and gentle bossie.

  “What do you call her?” inquired the colonel, putting up his eyeglasses for a close inspection.

  “I haven’t named her,” smiled the landlady.

  “Call her Elnora,” suggested Tom, “or stop — Clochette — that’s better!”

  “She is named Clochette,” said the doctor.

  “Dear me!” said Mrs. Bilkins, “I haven’t any milking-stool!”

  “That’s bad,” responded the colonel, “I suppose it’s a necessity.”

  “Well, in my days,” said Mrs. Bilkins, grimly, “folks didn’t stand up an’ milk.”

  “I have it!” said Tom, and he rushed into the house and returned with the piano stool.

  Mrs. Bilkins eyed it dubiously.

  “It ain’t quite accordin’ ter parlimentary rules, as Doc. Coyne said when he called Elder Burdock a sneak thief, but I guess it’ll do.”

  She took the new, bright ten-quart pail in her hand, and followed by Tom with the piano stool approached the gentle bovine and patted her on the head. “Cattle,” she remarked, “likes to be petted. Jest set the stool handy.”

  Tom did so, and the cow licked Mrs. Bilkins’ hand and swung around upon her hind legs until the stool was out of reach.

  “So! Clochette,” said the doctor.

  Tom replaced the stool, and again Clochette described a circle with her hind legs.

  “Try the other side,” suggested the colonel.

  Tom did so, and the cow moved the opposite way in the same manner.

  “The proper way to milk Clochette,” said the youth, as he wiped the gathering perspiration from his forehead, “is to get her alongside a board fence.”

  “But, unfortunately,” replied the doctor, “we have no board fence handy.”

  “This thing,” said Mrs. Bilkins, “must be done business like. This here Klokettle, or whatever her name is, is gentle enough, but we are strange to her. Now let me be the general an’ you’ll see how nice I manage her. Here, Tom, you hold her by the horns.”

  Tom accepted the nomination with as much alacrity as our Cholly could have shown, and grasped Clochette firmly by the horns.

  “Now, Doc, you stand ready with the pianner stool, an’ the colonel can stand on the other side o’ her an’ keep her from swingin’ round.”

  The colonel calmly took his position, while the doctor put the stool in place and Mrs. Bilkins seated herself — the cow meanwhile chewing her cud with a ruminating air.

  “This,” smiled our landlady, beginning to milk, “is business! — So! Teakettle! — Doc., you hold her tail so’s she can’t switch it inter my eye every minnit.

  — — There, see how nice the milk is — so white an’ — .”

  A slight interruption here occurred. Clochette sided away from the pail; the colonel exerted his strength and pushed her back again. Clochette stepped into the tin pail with such force that she became frightened. At the same moment the doctor unwisely jerked at her tail and Tom pushed her head down.

  You can imagine the result. In an instant the scene changed. The piano stool went through the kitchen window with a crash. Mrs. Bilkins’ legs might be seen struggling violently from the top of the garbage barrel; the tin pail flitted neatly over the colonel’s head and the milk trickled down his neck; the doctor landed in the coal-house and Tom in the neighbor’s premises, while Clochette took a vacation and browsed gently in a far-away pasture.

  To remove the pail and extricate Mrs. Bilkins from her uncomfortable position was the work of a moment to our gallant colonel. Presently the doctor and Tom joined them, but no one looked toward Clochette.

  “Colonel,” said Mrs. Bilkins, huskily, “take this nickle an’ go over to Cap. Hauser’s fer a quart o’ milk.”

  “If you will excuse us,” said Tom, lightly, “the doctor and I will go to our room and prepare for supper.”

  Left to herself for a moment, our landlady tacked her shawl over the broken window and whispered softly to the cat:

  “A woman is alius a fool when she asks a man to help her do anything. If I’d a been alone, that Klokettle an’ I would a had it out, an’ I’d a milked her or broke her neck. But the men-folks spiled it all. They think they can rush a cow like they rush a third ward caucus, but they’ll find they can’t. A cow is a female, an’ she wants her rights, an’ after all, I dunno as I blame her so much as I do Doc. fer bein’ such a fool as to pull her tail.”

  She Talks About Railroads and Various Minor Matters

  26 July 1890

  “I’ve had a great deal to worrit me this week,” said our landlady, nervously, as she put the saucer of fly-poison on the floor for the cat, and set the saucer of milk on the window sill.

  “Politics?” queried the colonel, carelessly.

  “Not exactly. I’ve ben workin’ on this ‘ere boulevard deal. Ye see if we don’t git a full vote, one that’s unanimosity, we can’t git the railroad, an’ so when I heerd as there was some kickers I thought as I’d go out an’ tackle ‘em. An’ a hard fight I’ve had with ‘em. But I’ve conquered, an’ there won’t be but one vote agin’ that boulevard on election day. There’s one feller that has got Bowels by name but not any by natur’ that still kicks because it’s his constitutional trouble, but nobody minds him anyhow.”

  “The town ought to be grateful for your labors,” said Tom.

  “That ain’t the p’int. I’m grateful to myself, an’ that settles it. What propity I owns, I owns, an’ I knows which side o’ my bread is buttered. Now, if it hadn’t been fer this here boardin’ house I could a made a heap o’ money this week. First comes a feller an’ says the editor of the Daily Nuthin’ has gone to Big Stone to get rusty, an’ wants me to be the editur wile he’s gone.

  “‘How much do I git?’ says I.

  “‘Oh,’ says he, ‘the reglar editur gits about one lickin’ a week, a cussin’ about forty times a day, free whiskey from the ‘riginal package houses an’ boards and finds himself.’

  “‘Don’t he git no chairmanship of the jimicrat central c’mittee?’ says I.

  “‘Hardly ever,’ says he, quotin’ Pinafore.

  “‘Then,’ says I, ‘I don’t want the job.’

  “Well, he hadn’t no more nor gone, when another feller arrives an’ says:

  “‘Ma’am,’ says he, ‘Kernel Puffball is gone ter the editorial meetin’, an’ we’d like yer to edit the Daily Anything.’

  “‘I’m afeared I ain’t ekal to it,’ says I.

  “‘Well,’ said he, ‘all you need is the New York and Chicago papers to steel from, an’ the ‘cyclopedia an’ dicshunary. Four pounds o’ conceit a day would make the people think as the editur were still to home, but no brains is necessary.’” ‘Brains,’ says I, lookin’ as mad as Billy Paulhamus when he misses a caucus, ‘is all I can furnish, an’ you’ll have to excuse me.’ So, neither the Daily Nuthin’ nor the Daily Anythin’ will git edited, an’ perhaps the people can read ‘em without sweatin’.”

  “A sad state of affairs,” remarked the doctor, mildly.

  “Yes, most as sad as Al. Ward, when he got through wi’ the masons this week. Al. he hankered as much to be a mason as he did fer cushions and stickin’ plaster after he got his degree. They say his shins was all black an’ his back a sight to behold. But they let him five, an’ he’s grateful fer that. He says he’d rather hear Loucks lecture on finance than to do it agin, but, as they never innishiate a feller but once, I guess his misery is over.”

  “By the way,” said the colonel, “I haven’t seen our cow lately.”

  “No,” returned our landlady, with a sigh, “I sold her las’ week ter a feller as keeps a baby farm. It gives a person a air o’ wealth an’ respectability ter have a cow in the yard, but Klokettle an’ I didn’t agree, an’ I never tried to milk her but onct.”

  Our Landlady (1)

  2 August 1890


  “Times is dull, is they?” inquired our landlady, as she cut into the watermelon with a business like air, “well, they may be to you, put they’re lively enough fer some folks. Rustlers don’t know what dull times is, it’s only such perfeshional men as you, doc, or such loan agents as the colonel, (as hain’t had nothin’ to loan in six months) or sich worthless clerks as Tom, who spends his time waitin’ fer the customers as don’t come, that finds times dull. The farmer what’s harvestin’ has to rustle after he cuts one stalk o’ wheat to reach another ‘afore he loses sight of it; the politicians has to rustle to build fences, although why they do that when most of’ em hain’t got no lots to put ‘em on beats me. The temperance men has to rustle so as people won’t think that prohibition don’t prohibit; the District Attorney has to rustle ter prove he’s got it in fer the ‘riginal package houses when he hain’t; the ministers has to rustle for congregations — them as hain’t throwed up religion fer politics — the business men have to rusde fer trade — the newspaper men has to rustle fer proof that every other newspaper man is a villian — an’ so it goes, plenty to rustle for if you mean business, an’ ain’t under the soaperiferous influence o’ the hot weather.”

  “Another piece of melon, please,” said the doctor, mildly.

  Mrs. Bilkins glared at him and cut a thin slice off the small end.

  “To eat that would be suicide,” he remonstrated.

  “It costs just as much a pound as the core,” returned our landlady, “and I can’t afford to waste it. Some folks wants to make a meal off the delicates o’ the season. What’d I furnish that mush an’ milk fer if it wrrn’t to fill ye up so you wouldn’t want to git fat on watermelon? Some folks hain’t got no sense, nohow!”

  “They’re going to have another opera,” said Tom, to change the subject, “and I’ve been asked to sing in the chorus.”

  “Well, you can do as you please,” returned Mrs. Bilkins, “but I hain’t got no patience with them uproars. I’ll git all the singin’ I want when I’m an angil in heaven — but p’raps you don’t expect to git there, so you’d better do yourn on earth.”

  “I am sorry, my dear Mrs. Bilkins, that you do not seem to be in good spirits today,” said the colonel, quietly.

  “Not any. No spirits has passed my lips fer a week.”

  “I mean that your equanimity is disturbed — that you are not in very good temper.”

  “Oh, I’m riled, am I? Well, I guess you’d be riled if you was me. Why, I went down to Miss Chowder’s to have my front bangs curled this mornin’ right after breakfast, an’ there I sees a crowd o’ young fellers waitin’ in the settin’-room.

  “‘What’r you here for?’ says I, ‘you fellers hain’t got no bangs.’

  “‘No,’ says one, ‘but we’s got mustaches!’

  “An’ I declare the hull lot was there to have their mustaches curled! An’ the young ladies took longer to curl one mustash than they do three pair o’ bangs, an’ so I sot an’ sot till dinner was ready, and my bangs hain’t curled yet, an’ there’s a prayer meetin’ tonight an’ I won’t dare face the deakin’ nohow.”

  “That’s too bad,” replied the colonel, as he glanced at Tom, who blushed and tried to straighten out the curls in his mustache.

  “Was Al. Ward there?” enquired the doctor.

  “No — Al. curls his’n over a crowbar; but speakin’ o’ him reminds me of a good joke. Ye see Al. he let the barber — Pabst — git inter him fer a four dollar meal ticket, an’ when he found the feller was a goin’ ter leave town last Wen’sday he sent Dave and a officer down to the train to stop him, or collect the ducats.” ‘Well,’ says Al., when Dave come back, ‘where’s the money?’

  “‘Couldn’t get it,’ says Dave. ‘The feller cried and said as he were a orphan an’ we had to let him go.’

  “‘Cried, did he?’ says Al. ‘Why, you chicken-hearted independent, he’s got four dollars wuth o’ my vittles in his insides! I’ll capture him if it costs a million dollars!’ an’ he buckled his vest tighter an’ rushed down to the depot. Well, by-’n-by he come back, kinder slow like. ‘Where’s the money,’ says Dave. ‘Why,’ says Al., ‘he cried an’ said as he’d only seven dollars to take him to Californy, an’ a feller as’ll take a poor kid’s last dollar is mean enough to join the demicrats. Tell you what, boys, that feller had a mother once.’

  “There was a hushed silence all through the room, an’ more’n one man at the lunch counter dropped a tear inter his mush an’ milk. An’ then Al. sighed an’ went off to hunt up Skip. The last time I heard of’em they was talkin’ politics with Goodwin. It’s a simple little story but it shows that even pirates may have hearts, an’ I advise any feller what’s a good cryer to go down to Ward’s and board on tick!”

  She Exposes a Practical Joke and Tells About the Goose Quill Kiss

  9 August 1890

  “Well, I’m all tuckered out,” exclaimed our landlady, as she entered the dining room in time to throw her hymn book at the cat, who was quietly eating out of the cream pitcher.

  The first result was to frighten the household pet so badly that she jumped from the table to the window sill, (upsetting the fly trap into the stewed prunes in her flight), and alighting upon a strip of sticky fly-paper she uttered a screetch of dismay and sprang into the arms of her mistress, who promptly threw her out of the window — paper and all. The second result was that the colonel was induced to look up from his paper and ask, “Been to prayer-meeting, ma’am?”

  “Well, not exactly,” responded our landlady, as she made preparations for tea, “this ‘ere is a sort o’ religious community, an’ thought if I went to a hoss-race without my prayer book, some one would know where I was goin’. This church business covers a multitude of sins.”

  “Where was the horse-race?” inquired Tom, with sudden interest.

  “Oh, out to the Fair grounds. You see, there’s a barber here named John, as is got a colt that’s no earthly good, an’ the boys are havin’ lots o’ fun with him. He can’t trot fer sour apples, that’s the fact, but John thinks as he’s the best race hoss in Ameriky. Billy Paulhamus pertended he wanted to race with him, an’ so they went out to the grounds, an’ got John to drive his nag around till it was all tuckered out. Then Billy brought his hoss out an’ let the colt beat him two straight heats. It were a burning shame to treat the poor barber so. The jedges and starters they were in the game, an’ when the colt made a mile in five minits an’ a quarter they tole the poor fellow that his time was 2:58! Five minits is the best that nag will even do. Baldwin, as has been guyin’ John fer a long time August i8go about his hoss, made him an offer o’ six hundred dollars, — when he wouldn’t give six cents — for the colt, an’ o’ course the barber wouldn’t take it.”

  “Are they trying to get the barber to make a bet?” asked the doctor.

  “No — they ain’t so mean as to work him fer money. It’s jest a guy — that’s all. Queer ideas folks git nowadays of fun. In my times fun was fun, an’ don’t you fergit it. Now look at this goose-quill deal. That shows how the kids nowadays is demoralizin’.”

  “What about the goose quill?” asked the colonel.

  “Why, I didn’t know anything about it myself until the other night. I was settin’ on the back stoop in the dark, thinkin’ of religious matters, when I noticed the forms of a couple o’ young people cornin’ round the comer of a neighbor’s house.

  “‘Now, if you won’t tell,’ says a gal voice, ‘I’ll show you how it’s done.’

  “‘Oh, I won’t tell,’ says a boy’s deep rich bass voice.

  “‘This idea o’ kissin’ through a goose quill,’ continued the gal, ‘is my own inwention. You get a kiss just the same only it’s removed to a respectful distance. Do you feel able to go through the ordeal, Hi?’

  “‘You bet I do,’ says the feller, ‘let’s have it!’

  “Then I heard a sound like as if some one had pulled his foot out o’ some wet mud an’ the feller yells
,” ‘Why, Gene, you’ve pulled a piece out o’ my cheek!’

  “‘Oh, no, that’s the beauty o’ the thing, you know when you’ve got kissed. How do you like it?’

  “‘Oh, under some circumstances it’s all right, but I think I like a meat kiss better.’

  “‘But that’s improper,’ says the gal. ‘The idee of the goose quill is that it makes kissin’ proper. All the gals has got ‘em now.’

  “An’ then the young folks went away an’ left me to my horrified reflections. I don’t approve o’ this goose quill arrangement. There’s only one proper way to kiss as I knows on, an’ when I was a gal the young folks would scorn goose quills. Of course, this ‘ere’s a free country, but sence that night, whenever I see a young feller with a round red mark on his cheek, I feel kinder sorry for him, because I know that the march o’ Civilization and the inwention o’ the goose quill kiss has cost him one of the pleasantest and most innocent delights of youth — well — yes — an’ ole age, too, fer that matter!”

  Our Landlady (2)

  16 August 1890

  “Things is awful dull jest now,” remarked our landlady, as she threw her shawl over the broom handle and mopped her face with her apron, “an’ the folks as knows when they’re well off will either stay to home and loaf or go on their summer vacation. An’ that reminds me that there’s lots of folks in this town as tells the newspaper men they’re going away, an’ then don’t go, an’ they git the repertation o’ bein’ Summer excursionists without the expense. Jest tell me where the papers hain’t told the people Max Bass was agoin’ to, for instinct; an’ yet Max has staid to hum all the time an’ tended to his knittin’, which the immigration folks usually does just before election, so’s when the new appointment arrives they’ll be on hand to receive it.”

  “A mere matter ofbusiness,” said the colonel, as he cut into the pumpkin pie. “So’s everything a mere matter o’ business. Now, Tom here were on that Fair Grounds bond, and he might ‘a gone jest as well on a coffee grounds bond fer all the money he could pay. An’ so I tried to help him out by going to our public-spirited citizens today an’ tryin’ to get some contributions to help out the boys as is got stuck on this bond deal. I went into a drug store an’ bought a stick o’ gum.